Your Words
by TMBlue
Summary: Ron doesn't know what to do. So, he reads.


**Your Words**

She was lifeless, and he'd been irrational.

He couldn't stop shaking as he stood over her, crumpled and frail in his brother's guest bed. A skipping record played on loop inside his mind of the moment they'd been separated, inside Malfoy Manor. Moments later had come her screams from above, an agonising punch repeated, his limbs and mind going numb. It hadn't mattered then, whether he lived or died. All that stood within the tightly closing circle of what he cared about, in those moments, had been the sound of her voice - the knowledge that, however pained, she was still alive.

And if she could hear him, too, maybe all hope wasn't lost.

He secured a white-knuckled grip on the edge of her bed.

He had no fucking clue what to do next. She was here. She was going to be alright. And he'd been left alone with her as she slowly circled consciousness.

He wanted to touch her. Hold her hand. Collapse on the bed beside her and never let her go.

But he couldn't. He couldn't keep using this excuse, a life-threatening incident to forgive what he'd done.

Poisoned, she'd been his friend again.

Tortured? He couldn't live with himself if he touched her, if he forgave himself for his need to feel her warmth, allowed himself to exist with her in the comfort of a heartbeat to his cheek when he didn't deserve it.

"Shit, Hermione," he cried. "Wake up. Please. Say something."

She quivered, slightly, and her features softened...

To the sound of his voice?

Intrigued, he pulled up a chair, brushing the unkemp hair back from his forehead.

"You're gunna be alright," he whispered, hoarsely, staring with interest as her eyes rolled behind closed lids. If she could hear him, he wanted to make it count. "What do you want me to say?"

His eyes moved down along her skeletal form, cotton vest, torn jeans... missing sock.

He shivered as he reached down to slip off his boots, pulling one of his own socks off his foot and clearing his throat. After a slightly garbled cleansing charm, he felt the wool and found it satisfactory enough to accept, half-crawling down the side of the bed to end at her feet, gingerly reaching for her bare ankle before he realised how much it would affect him.

His fingers wrapping round her leg, skin to skin, he felt his eyes burn. How real she was, skin and bone, frozen to the touch. He slipped his sock over her foot with a care he hadn't known he possessed.

He suddenly wanted nothing more than to pull her in, to shield her from the world and all that could hurt her or touch her. Everything.

He'd never felt so strongly about anything in all his life.

His heart was aching. Her socked foot was in his hand, warming considerably. And she was making small noises.

Noises!

He leapt up the side of the bed and was inches from her face in half a second.

"Hermione?" he rasped. But her face had gone still and peaceful again.

He studied her for a long moment, realising with some confusion that his hand was hovering in mid-air, afraid to close the inches that would allow him to touch her face.

He finally sat back in his chair, feeling helpless. How could he stay here, waiting? How could he stand being unable to do anything, not allowing himself to do the only thing he wanted?

And then, he saw it.

A misplaced book of household spells sat on the bedside table. To anyone observing, it was a useless volume, no significance at all to either of the people in this room. Hermione, of course, was beyond the point of caring, much less being able to comprehend the words inside. Ron, of course, could give exactly zero fucks about household charms.

However...

He almost managed a grin, softly picking up the book.

"Right," he said, gruffly, as he flipped it open to page one. "I have two conditions: one, you're not allowed to make fun of me later if you're actually able to hear me... And two, you've got to bloody wake up and scold me for mispronouncing one of these."

He glanced at her, and had the hand at her side gone a bit slack? He chewed his lip, swallowed, and cleared his throat.

"_Chapter One: Compulsory Charms for Your Home_."

He sniffed, almost laughing at the sheer mundaneness of the words he was reading. It was nearly perfectly the opposite of everything else, set against what they'd just been through. What _she_ had-

He swallowed, took a sharp breath, and continued.

"_Tergeo, Scourgify and Evanesco. One might ignore these charms as too familiar, forgetting their perfect use in and around your kitchen. For a tough spill or stain, nothing will do the job as quickly and effectively as a tergeo. See diagram below for proper posture and wand motion._"

She let out a deep breath, and her lips slowly parted. He stared, motionless and deathly silent, waiting.

Seconds ticked past, and he sighed.

"Alright. Haven't had enough, have you?"

He lifted an eyebrow at her limp form and returned his attention to the page.

"_A scouring charm, used in conjunction with a tergeo, can tackle even the toughest of messes. Apply a series of these charms to frequently used areas of your kitchen for a sparkling clean surface, day after day. Scougify may also be used alone to wash the dishes clean after a meal, wipe away a small spill, and-_"

"RRonnnn..."

He nearly dropped the book.

"Hermione?!"

"Mmmm..."

Her eyes flickered open, went wide for a moment, then landed on his concerned face and relaxed.

"Hi," she mouthed, lips quivering.

"Oh, God..." and he let the book slip from his lap to the floor with a clunk. "Y-You're-" he choked and nearly sobbed, holding back as he clutched the edge of her bed with both fists.

It rushed back to the surface, how he'd almost lost her, the light weight of her limp body in his arms as his tears had fallen to trickle down the side of her face... Bill rushing out to meet him, and the way his voice had cracked with anguish as he'd asked for the help that was too apparently needed for him to have to state.

Helplessness.

"Are we-" she started, trying to move her head enough to glance around the room.

"Safe," he finished for her. "Shell Cottage."

She sank into her pillow, eyes still gently focused on his face. As his stomach flipped, it occurred to him that they'd never been so alone; she'd never been so openly focused on him.

"Thank you," she breathed, and he felt his cheeks flush.

For what? Because he'd fallen apart? Because the thought of losing her had been too much to comprehend?

"You were reading to me," she said, as her lips curled slowly into a tiny smile.

"Didn't know what else to do," he admitted, voice rough and unrecognisable, as if his throat had been raked over with a fork.

"It was perfect."

"Household charms?" and he lifted a sceptical eyebrow.

"Anything."

He scuffed a hand across his jaw, sandpaper stubble from- he couldn't remember exactly how long. He subconsciously hunched forward, closing them in, away from the world.

"I could hear you," she said, so softly.

"Mmm?"

"At the Malfoys. You were calling my name."

He swallowed thickly... licked dry lips. Flashes of darkness ran through him, a feeling he remembered uncomfortably, deeper than anything he'd experienced before. The desperate cries of being able to do nothing, to hear her screaming in agony...

"Yeah."

The deep roughness he heard in his own voice seemed to affect her as well, and she allowed her right hand to slide minutely closer to his. He stared intently at those centimetres that kept them from touching.

"You shouldn't have done it," and he looked up again, her brow furrowing in a moment of pain. "Everyone could hear you." She paused to meet his eyes. "But I'm so glad you did."

He flexed his bare right foot against the cold wood floor and ignored the way his chest ached, knowing it must be nothing at all compared to how she felt.

"I w-was s-so afraid, Hermione."

The tips of her fingers touched his, and he curled his knuckles away from the feeling.

The look of momentary confusion that crossed her face was replaced with another wince of pain.

"Bloody hell. Fleur left a potion, let me-"

"I don't need it. I'm fine," she said, gently.

"The hell you are! You were fucking _tortured_!"

He stood, ignoring her intake of breath. With shaking hands, he retrieved the potion bottle Fleur had left atop the dresser. Moving to stand over her, he stared fiercely down, his eyes finding hers. She suddenly seemed so small.

"Please," he tried, when he saw the look on her face. He had startled her. His voice, the roughness he'd thought she'd heard before, was maybe a bit too much for her now.

She nodded, and he handed her the bottle, desperately forcing himself to ignore the feel of her cool fingers on his as she took it. She swallowed, and he finally sat, slumping forward, exhausted.

"I'm sorry I shouted," he mumbled.

"Why... Ron, why won't you come any closer to me?" she asked, her voice tiny and distant.

So she'd noticed, of course. He didn't want to do this now. He wanted to watch her breathe. To know she was alive and not to care about the rest.

But of _course_ he cared. He'd spent every moment since they'd arrived here caring more than he could express.

To touch her, to be close to her and feel her...

"You can't forget what I did. Don't want it that way again. We never fix it. One of us nearly dies and we just sort of..." he drifted off, too tired to continue.

"Does it really matter now?"

"Yes."

If he'd thought he could bear it, he'd have let her convince him. He'd have so easily let it go if she'd wanted him to… _before_. But he couldn't let them do it again. He wanted it to be different this time. Of course he knew _why_ now, if only he could tell her.

"Ron, when you left," -he flinched- "you weren't yourself. And I think that's what scared me the most, that who you were wasn't the one who'd cared so much before... But of _course_ you care. That wasn't _you _leaving. I've never-"

She paused, choking on her words. He moved forward, nearly forgetting, once more, not to touch her. His hand hovered before he dropped it again, eyes squinted harshly as he looked down.

"Ron..." she whispered, hoarse with pain and the restraint of tears. He met her eyes again, shaking lightly from holding back. "I- I want you to stay with me. I need you. Isn't that enough?"

"Can you forgive me, honestly?" His throat constricted as her tears slid free.

"You _know _I have," she cried. "You didn't mean to hurt me... or Harry."

"I did," he admitted, "but I didn't know what the hell I was doing, really."

"Ron, you saved my _life_. Please..."

Her eyes squinted almost shut, teary and clouded.

It was all he'd needed, her words and the way she _knew _they were going to be fine. She _forgave _him. No matter what had happened between them, he didn't have to punish himself any more for what he'd done.

"_Please_…" she said once more, weaker this time, suppressed by his lack of response. Did she really think he'd say no? Did she think he _could_?

"You don't have to ask again," he assured her. "I'm here. Always gunna be here."

He slid from his chair to kneel at the side of her bed, finally letting go. He took her hand in both of his, trembling as she gasped. Her eyes slipped shut, and he lowered his head, pressing his nose to her palm.

He felt her sigh, her left hand moving to drift, with hesitance, into his hair.

He closed his eyes, squeezing her hand more tightly in his own.

"Doesn't hurt so much now," she whispered, and he smiled, eyes still closed, face still pressed against their joined hands.

He heard the door open slowly, but he didn't move to see who was there.

"Harry's downstairs," Bill called. "Wanted you to know. I think you ought to..."

Ron finally raised his head to glance tiredly over at his brother.

"Don't argue- I'm coming with you," Hermione said, quickly, before Ron could speak.

"I know," and he smiled at her, lifting their joined hands to his chest before letting go.


End file.
